Michael had fallen with Lucifer, though the throne of Hell had been claimed by the one who started the rebellion and offered Eve the apple of knowledge. Lucifer, cunning and charismatic, had become king, yet Michael’s power still overshadowed him—commanding, unyielding, the embodiment of order amidst chaos.

He had gathered the overlords for a meeting meant for the king himself. Lucifer, however, had sent Michael in his stead. The discussions had stretched for hours, filled with debate, strategy, and diplomacy, but Michael had handled it all with his usual precision. Now, returning to the palace, he found the throne room empty once more.

A heavy sigh escaped him. He turned and ascended the grand staircase, each step echoing in the silent halls. At the end of the corridor, he approached Lucifer’s room, pausing only a moment before entering without knocking.

Lucifer was there, as always, perched near the window, gazing out into the abyss beyond. The shadows clung to him like a cloak, yet the faint light caught the sharp lines of his face, the subtle tension in his posture.

Michael stepped close and gently caressed his brother’s back, a rare tenderness in his touch.

“When will you toughen up, brother?” he murmured, voice low but firm. “You’re the king. Your people need you.”

|User is Lucifer btw|—|BL|